


Fluffy

by Angel Grace (angel_grace01)



Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), First Time, Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Other, Speeding, fluffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_grace01/pseuds/Angel%20Grace
Summary: There is fluffing, a mad drive through London, way too many feels and a live rendition of the peach emoji.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34
Collections: The Ineffable Con 2





	Fluffy

**Author's Note:**

> I blame a dear fiend for the idea behind this story, but the execution is all on me. Written for the 'The Ineffable Con 2' zine, an amazing online convention held in October 2020.

“Un-be-fucking-lievable,” Crowley petulantly kicked a planter out of the way. “I’ve earned my stripes. I’ve done my time! Why the hell do I of all demons have to do gruntwork?!” His canines flashed as he perfectly imitated the Prince of Hell: “It izzz very simple Crowley. Either you put in the hourzzz or you lozzze your miracle privilegezzz.” Another innocent planter got a realigning kick. Who put so many stupid fake plants in a hallway anyway? “And will they let me pick my own temptation? Noooooo, of course not. They insist on ‘craftsmanship’. And on picking the bloody location!” 

Crowley took a fortifying breath. Ok, showtime. He carefully eased through the nondescript door. A wall of heat, light and noise hit him. At least a dozen people were milling round the relatively small space, their paths carefully choreographed to avoid the room’s center. The massive bed took center stage, or rather the mass of writhing bodies on it. It took Crowley a second to figure out there were three people in that mess, their bodies shining in the bright stage lights. An adult filmset. Of all the places he’d planned to be, the set of a porn movie was pretty low on the list. Like a single step above a politician’s ribbon cutting ceremony low.

“Cut!” One of the fully dressed humans shouted. Probably the director then. “Damn it Mickey, at least try to look like you’re enjoying yourself! We’re going for the money shot, not whatever sad excuse for a boner that is...” There was emphatic pointing at the unfortunate actor’s midsection, which seemed less enthusiastic by the minute.

“Sorry boss, but I’m only human.” Mickey glanced down at the decidedly unimpressed actress beneath him. “No offence Ethel, but if the person on the end of my dick were making those kinds of sounds for real, I’m gonna drive them to A&E, not look for a new position.”

“Like you’re any better,” Ethel clearly wasn’t taking the blame for this one, “you couldn’t find a g-spot if you got the directions from google maps. Hell, google maps has a better chance of finding it than you do! A girl has to have something to work with,” she gave him a less than gentle shove, “and don’t call me Ethel! The name’s Honey! Honey Galore!”

Crowley rolled his eyes. This was what he was reduced to? Listening to the bickering of naked humans? Sure there was enough envy and resentment here for him to stoke into something more, but then what? This was just people being people, with the usual workplace dynamics of clique forming and gentle backstabbing inherent therein. What was so special about it? He would… Crowley’s thoughts screeched to a standstill. 

With the director’s rallying cry of “Fluffer, get in there!” the gawkers opposite Crowley parted like the Red Sea to reveal… Aziraphale! What was he doing here?! More importantly, why was he walking towards the actors with his little ‘oooh I’m gonna enjoy this’ wiggle and a big smile on his face? And why… Aziraphale no… why was he gracefully dropping to his knees in front of that trice damned Mickey, who was gleefully waving his miserable wiener in the direction of those… expectantly parted lips? 

Crowley’s sound of protest was lost in the enthusiastic slurping noises coming from the center stage. It couldn’t be. Surely he was dreaming. Yes, that was it. He was having a nightmare. There was no way his perfect angel was on his knees, sucking some strange mortal’s penis with the same kind of gusto he’d show for a sweet ice cream cone on a warm afternoon. He was still in his usual cream suit with the plaid bowtie, for someone’s sake! On a PORN SET! 

“Mr. Fell!” The director interrupted both Crowley’s spiralling thoughts and Aziraphale’s enthusiastic administrations, “don’t suck him dry, we still need him to shoot.”

“What a pity,” Aziraphale had the audacity to smile as he rose, “I was quite enjoying myself.” He used his thumb to rub something from the corner of his mouth, then popped the digit inside. “No sense in wasting any…”

Crowley broke. Dream or not, nightmare or not, a demon can only stand so much. Two massive strides took him beside the angel. 

“Crowley?! What are you…” was all Aziraphale got out before his wrist was clasped in an iron grip. Cries of “Hey!” and “What the hell!” followed them as he was dragged away by a fuming demon. Fortunately some prey instinct in the hindbrain of these humans kept them from actually interfering. There’s no telling what Crowley would have done to any mortal foolish enough to get in his way or worse, try to stop them. The unfortunate planter he tripped over on his way out was obliterated to a sad pile of ash instantly, Crowley’s stride never even faltered.

“My dear, I really must protest. I…” 

“Get. In.” Crowley tossed Aziraphale towards the Bentley, finally letting go of his wrist.

“Now see here,” Aziraphale rubbed his skin gingerly, “I…”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley hissed between clenched teeth. “I will not ask again. Get. In. The. Car. NOW!”

“Oh really.” Aziraphale huffed, tilting up his nose while gently lowering himself in the leather seat. “There’s no reason to…”

“Aziraphale. Shut. Up.” Crowley’s eyes were burning with the Fires of Hell. As in, Aziraphale could see literal flames licking the sclera. A strange feeling shivered through the angel, more effectively shutting him up than any command. This wasn’t his constant companion for the last 6000 years, but something else entirely. 

The drive was… insane. If Crowley’s usual driving disregarded any safety measures, this trip veered firmly into the realm of mad devastation. While not nice about it, Crowley usually made sure not to actually hit any of the mortals. This time, it was sheer luck that they arrived at the bookshop without blood slicking the bentley’s wheels.

Aziraphale swallowed nervously, the sound inordinately loud now that the screams of bystanders and roar of the engine had stopped. “Crowley, I…”

“Get. Inside.” Crowley gripped the steering wheel, resolutely refusing to look in Aziraphale’s direction. “Now!”

Aziraphale went. The bookshop’s soothing ambiance wrapped itself around him like a comfortable blanket. By the time he’d made it to the counter, his jangled nerves had calmed enough for him to whirl around and confront the insane demon that’d dragged him here. He was the Principality of the Eastern Gate! He didn’t cower for anyone! He was going to give Crowley such a piece of his mind! He was… alone in the bookshop. Aziraphale slumped. After all this ruckus, Crowley hadn’t even followed him inside. What had that all been about anyway?

The door’s quiet jingle cut off any ruminations. There Crowley was, carefully locking the door and drawing the blinds. Slowly. By hand.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked carefully from the safety of his cash register.

“Why?” Crowley kept his back turned to him. “Why Aziraphale?”

“Why what?”

Crowley whirled around. Gone was the fiery demon for the deepest abyss, gone was the terrifying force that’d dragged him halfway across London. “Why those humans? Why… that? Why…” Aziraphale flinched from the anguish in those unprotected eyes, “why not me?”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s eyes widened. Surely he didn’t mean… “Crowley, I don’t understand.”

He snorted. “What is there to understand angel? You’d rather suck off some random stranger than… than…” His arms flailed, trying to encompass everything and nothing. “... than give me a scrap of your regard.” The last came out a whisper as he turned to the door. “I should go. I made a mistake.”

“No!” Aziraphale flew. Maybe there was a miracle involved, he didn’t know. He just moved. One second he was leaning against the eastern side of his shop, the next he was in front of the door, grasping both of Crowley’s wrists to stop him from running. “You can’t just go after saying something like that Crowley.” He swallowed. “What did you mean by ‘my regard’? Why would you want…”

Crowley scoffed. “Isn’t it obvious angel? But of course it isn’t. I’ve only tried to get close to you for the last six thousand years. Forget it. Just let me go and we’ll forget this ever happened.” He tried to wiggle his hands free.

Aziraphale wasn’t having any of it. Six thousand… surely not. Surely it was just… “It’s your job, isn’t it? To tempt? To tempt me? That’s why you kept hanging around, right?” 

“Yeah. that’s right. Just me being a whily serpent. Of course. Went a bit overboard. Silly mistake, won’t happen again. If you could let me go now?” Crowley studiously kept his head turned away.

“My dear?” Aziraphale stroked a gentle hand down his cheek. “Please look at me?”

Those serpentine eyes. Aziraphale’s breath caught. He was looking into the chaos of creation and the eye of a hurricane at the same time. How could he have missed this. How?!?

Crowley took a deep breath to… protest? Defend himself? It didn’t matter. Aziraphale crashed their lips together, pulling that lanky body to him with all his might.

Crowley melted into the kiss. There was no hesitation, no delay in response. Finally being permitted to touch, to hold, to taste… desperation took hold. Biting at those plump lips, trying to grasp that entire enticing body at once…

“Stop. Stop!” Aziraphale pulled back with effort. “We can’t do this here.”

“Why not?” Crowley was flicking his tongue against Aziraphale’s jugular. “Ashamed of me?”

The question would have been playful if Aziraphale hadn’t heard the underlying fear. “No.” A light peck to the lips to entice Crowley’s face back up. “I just happen to have a sofa that is far more comfortable than a wall of books.”

“Ngk!” The words shuddered through Crowley. Eyes wild, he virtually manhandled his angel to the small office. 

Aziraphale could grow to like this forceful side of his demon. Crowley was usually so careful with him, so… wary. No more. No more tiptoeing around each other, no more letting fear dictate their actions. He never wanted to see that look in Crowley’s eyes again. With a single shove, Aziraphale thrust him down onto the seat, following him down gleefully.

It all became a bit of a blur then. Kissing, touching, holding… time became meaningless. Something pricked Aziraphale’s awareness though. Crowley was… well, he was wonderful. Everything he’d ever imagined and more. Except...?

“Crowley?” Aziraphale snuck a last kiss under that pointed chin before he raised his head. “My dear, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Crowley had to blink a few times before his eyes would focus on his beautiful angel. “What could possibly be wrong?”

“You kiss me, lick into me, with such a singleminded focus. As if you want to devour me.” A light smile played around Aziraphale’s lips. “Not that that would be such a bad thing, but…”

“Gjk!” Crowley covered his face with both hands. “Don’t say such things if you want me to behave like a gentleman!”

“Whoever said I wanted such a silly thing?” Aziraphale looked downright devilish as he firmly cupped the warmth of Crowley’s groin. “Tell me my dear, what would you like? My hands? My mouth?” He leaned forward, letting his rump rub deliciously against that considerable Effort. “Something else?”

Crowley’s Adam's apple bobbed vigorously, his eyes riveted on the spectacle above him. “I want… I… I want their taste gone.” He sat up, his long arms pulling Aziraphale close enough to lick again between those plump lips. “I want you to taste of me and only of me.”

“Oooooh.” A delicious shiver wracked Aziraphale’s body. “Yes. I… Let’s.” He shimmered down that gorgeous body, his hands tangling with the Crowley’s belt. So tight. So reluctant to give up its prize. With a growl of frustration and a single finger snap, all of Crowley’s clothes were neatly folded on the nearby desk. 

Not to be outdone, Crowley raised a single eyebrow as he miracled Aziraphale’s clothes in a heap next to his. “It’s hardly fair of you angel, to deprive me of such beauty.” His eyes trailed Aziraphale’s contours appreciatively.

“You are the beautiful one,” Aziraphale ignored Crowley’s negative headshake, “so smooth and sleek,” his fingers traced soft skin and defined muscle, “utter perfection.” His lips barely hovered over the hollow of Crowley’s clavicle. 

“I’m touching perfection right here,” Crowley caressed the milky smooth smooth skin of Aziraphale’s shoulders, “I’m just a walking beanstalk.”

Aziraphale’s fingers on his lips prevented him from spouting more nonsense. “You’re perfect for me.” He pecked Crowley’s pointed chin. “Now please let me enjoy you.”

“Oooh…” Crowley groaned, “Angel, don’t say things like that if you want me to last.”

“There you go with your assumptions again. Who said I wanted that?” Aziraphale’s smile was sin incarnate, “I want you to give in again and again.” His head dipped, tongue lashing at the swell of pecks, teeth gently nipping at nipples only to soothe the sting a second later. His hands mapping out the starsystem of tiny freckles adorning the loveliness before him.

Crowey could only hang on, his hands firmly locked in his angel’s soft curls. It was too much. His hand flew to his mouth, trying to keep in a scream. Go… Sat… Someone, Aziraphale was trying to kill him! And he hadn’t even ventured ‘below the belt’ so to speak yet, perfectly content to focus on Crowley’s belly button and pleasure trail. “Angel, please!” 

“Since you asked so nicely,” Aziraphale smirked and proceeded to swallow Crowley down to the hilt in one smooth stroke.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!” Stars! Fire! The birth of the universe! Crowley whited out, his world narrowing to a single point of focus. Surely no mortal body could withstand this and not spontaneously combust.

“My darling?” Aziraphale pulled off, his hand taking the place of his mouth temporarily. He’d never heard a scream like that emerge from a human throat. “Are you alright?”

“Never. Better.” Crowley smiled weakly. His angel was going to discorporate him, he just knew it. All this from a single touch… but what a way to go. “Just a bit sensitive.” Glancing down, he saw Aziraphale definitely wasn’t unaffected either. “Maybe we could make this a bit more reciprocal?”

“Oh, but you don’t have to! I’m happy to…”

Crowley’s firm grip on his throbbing Effort stopped him in his tracks. “I want to angel. Believe me, I most definitely want to. Swing around.”

The challenges of manoeuvring on a narrow sofa meant nothing when you have two determined supernatural beings focused on the task. Whether it was altogether dignified, was a whole other matter entirely. Then again, who cared? Certainly not Crowley, who was now gazing up at the most perfectly round pair of buttcheeks ever to grace reality. And he’d been around kilt wearing Highlanders on a windy afternoon.

Reverently, he framed that lush backside with both hands, fingers digging in for purchase. Almost like a Pavlovian response, Aziraphale gave his trademark hipwiggle. “Ngk! Gak!” Clearly, Crowley was winning prizes for his eloquence right now.

“Everything alright there, my dear?”

“Everything is peachy.” Crowley appreciatively stroked the soft, almost downy skin in front of him, “absolutely peachy.” With a deep breath, he dove for his prize. 

Everything blurred after that. Crowley vaguely remembered thinking that his angel tasted as sweet as those crepes he loved. There was a moment, somewhere in the middle, where he was convinced they’d either swapped places or slipped into their ethereal incarnations… They may or may not have changed Efforts at one point. Crowley knew he’d definitely stopped time, twice. At some point they orgasmed, possibly a few times (who needed mortal limitations), but it seemed almost inconsequential, almost an afterthought in the intensity of the sheer perfection of oneness they’d found.

Eventually, reality returned, time resumed its natural flow and they found themselves snuggled together, sharing a lovely burgundy from a single wineglass. 

Crowley stared at the gloss of wine shining on his angel’s lips. Unable to resist - and why should he - he reached up and licked the taste of wine, Aziraphale and himself off those plump lips. “Perfect,” he sighed, burrowing back down into Aziraphale’s warmth.

“I am glad you think so, my darling.” Aziraphale carded his fingers through Crowley’s fiery mane, “I believe you to be rather magnificent myself.”

“Ngk! Angel, don’t say things like that!” Crowley hid his face in Aziraphale’s chest.

“Why not? I have recently made an in depth study of the subject and I can confirm you’re leagues above anyone, be they mortal or otherwise.” Aziraphale’s smile disappeared when he saw Crowley’s face fall in reaction to his words. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

“Aziraphale, please don’t.” Without his glasses to hide behind, Crowley’s eyes broadcast his vulnerability.

“Don’t what? Crowley, whatever I’m doing wrong, please tell me!”

“You… I don’t mean… it’s your choice and I have no right to… but I…”

Aziraphale could almost see Crowley’s defences shoring up again. “Please, please dear heart, just tell me what’s wrong!”

“Just… please no more mortals? I know I shouldn’t ask, but…”

“No! Oh Crowley, of course not! I would never… not if you…” Now it was Aziraphale who couldn’t find the words to express himself. He took a deep breath. “I would never do something to willfully harm you my darling. If you don’t like me… sampling… mortals, I will not.” He framed his demon’s face with his hands, “nothing compares to you, my wonderful, wicked demon.”

“Good. That’s… good.” Crowley squirmed, decidedly uncomfortable with the emotionality of the conversation. He sank back down, playing with Aziraphale’s chest hair. There was one niggling thought that kept bothering him though. He should let it go. Really. He would. For once he was going to control his curiosity. No good could come from pursuing this conversation. Except…

“What were you doing there anyway, angel?”

“Where?”

“At the… place. The film studio.”

“Ah, you see, it was merely a matter of expediency. Coupling the enjoyable with the necessary. Gabriel told me I had to meet my quota or I would lose my miracle privileges. He just happened to have this assignment and they just happened to need a fluffer.” Aziraphale shrugged. “It was hardly an onerous task.”

“No. Impossible.” Crowley’s eyes were wide. “Beelzebub told me I’d lose my privileges if I didn’t take this assignment. You don’t think they…?”

“No. Surely not.” Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut in denial. “They had no idea. They wouldn’t. Would they?”

The dawning horror in Crowley’s expressive eyes was enough of an answer.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow I managed to write a sex scene between our two favourite idiots without ever using any word describing their genitals. I'm honestly not sure what I imagined them presenting like. Does it really matter? They were finally happy and will continue to be so.


End file.
